


don't wanna cry anymore

by seb



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Past Relationship(s), Self Harm, Suicide, self hatred, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 15:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: Suffering and pain brings one to a single conclusion.▬▬▬Please, please be aware of the tags and take them seriously.1-800-273-8255





	don't wanna cry anymore

**Author's Note:**

> So, um. Shit's been real tough for me? This is a vent fic, and I know it does not characterize Dirk correctly, but. Complete vent fic. I've been isolating for days and all of Dirk's thoughts are mine and I really shouldn't even be posting this but I am anyway because I need to get this it out of my face. 
> 
> I wrote it all at once at 12am so excuse the fucked up flow and any shit mistakes I may have made. It's literally just a stream of consciousness.

You can feel it against your neck. Smooth, synthetic. It doesn't scratch, doesn’t burn against your skin. You revel in the feeling. Firm, thin, tight beneath your jaw, catching against your ear when you shift.

Your toes curl around the edge of the chair. It’s sturdy- not your work chair, you’re not stupid. Wheels do not equal balance, just a lot of fumbling. You don’t want to fuck this up, you  _ can’t  _ fuck this up. For once in your life you cannot ruin what you’ve started. You stretch your neck, feel the rope slide against your scar, and shiver. Your hands are shaking violently, sweat coating your fingertips when you clench your fist.

You’re nervous. No shit you’re nervous, you don’t want to fucking suffocate. Quick and easy, that’s the plan. A swift fall, a sick crack, and darkness- that’s the plan.

But things not going according to plan is what brought you here, isn’t it?

You don’t want to think about it, but here you are, thrown back into the memories. The trembling of your limbs as you stumbled across your room, broken into tears before you could even reach your bed. Collapsing in front of your nightstand, hands scrambling for your phone atop it. Desperate pleas sent to your friends, broadcasted for the world to see, calling out for help in the only way you know how. Maybe it was too cryptic, thinking back. Maybe begging for it all to be put to an end wasn’t clear enough. Maybe, when you reached out to the people you loved, there wasn’t enough anguish in your words. Maybe they misunderstood.

You tried for so long for some type of relief. You were overwhelming them and you knew it- but what choice did you have? Your eyelids flutter, fighting back tears just at the thought. You were  _ alone _ , in the most painful sense of the word. There was an emptiness in your chest, ice in your blood. You were breathing in ash of the relationships you ruined, your lungs were giving out, you could  _ feel  _ them struggle with every breath-

You thought they’d be there. You thought they’d care. You thought, at least, they’d pacify you. But you got nothing in return- no pitying glance, no placating pat on the back. You were alone, and they left you alone. 

There are tears streaming down your face now, despite your protests at yourself, and you cannot stop them. You think back on their smiling faces when you’d first spent time together- you think of the warmth that flooded you when they called you their friend, when he took your arm in his and called you his lover. You remember the flush on your cheeks and the feeling of  _ home  _ settling in your heart. Here, surrounded by people you loved who loved you in return. Here, in the arms of someone who cherished your very presence. Here, in the words of people who cared.

It feels like eons ago. Their faces fell when you came near, their words curt and bored. The things you loved were of no interest to them, your adoration too much. You were overbearing, annoying. You were everything you feared to be. Their silence strengthened your anxiety, made it a physical thing that sat on your chest and your shoulders, twined around your fingers like  _ his  _ should have, made you afraid to open your eyes every morning and shut them every night. The darkness manifested into something real, something so familiar and so alien at the same time. You saw the shadows flutter in your vision, call to you in plain sunlight. Your nerves were constantly alight, waiting for the strike.

You hear it now. You hear it laughing at you, your weakness. You feel it wrapping around your ankles, slithering up your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut, pathetic noises escaping your mouth. You don’t want this.

_ You don’t want this. _

You want so badly to be happy. You want so viciously to be heard, to be loved. You fought so hard, for so long, the struggle a true battle every single day of your damned life. Sleepless nights and the terrors that came with them; reaching for light from the void, the abyss, light so blinding you could not keep your eyes open but could not close them, either, for what if it went away when you did? What if it was in your mind along with everything else, what if when you blinked, it vanished? Eyes dry, lips numb, skin cracked, cut, bleeding- you crawled, scraped your knees on every surface you crossed, bowed your head to every person who threw you scraps of attention. Their silence was worse than any blow, and you’d rather they left you with bruises. Time can mend broken bones, but never the ache in your heart.

You watched them leave. You watched them turn away, watched them stand their ground as you clawed at their back,  _ begging  _ for something,  _ anything _ .

Silence.

_ Silence _ .

You are surrounded by it. It’s so quiet it hurts, piercing your ears, making the hallucinations worse. The laughter roars, your wailing fills you with disgust. Your attempts to stop your sobbing only results in more revolting noises. You hate every inch of yourself, hate the organs taking part for their role, hate everything that’s  _ wrong  _ about you right now, always. Hate the parts of you that have driven everyone away.

Your heart is beating rapidly. You can feel it everywhere: your wrists, your neck, your thighs, where fresh wounds have been laid out by your own hand. A stupid last attempt at feeling anything, no matter how fleeting. No dice. You almost wish it had worked, that your last resort had been a success, the savior at the end of the story. But this is the end of your story, this is the last page. This is your unsatisfying end. Unhappiness, loneliness, and an uninteresting death.

Who will find you, you wonder. Who will notice. Your silence has gone on for days, and no one has thought to check on you. No one has cared to ponder over your wellbeing. You are a fleeting thought if a thought at all. You let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob, the noose pulling against your skin as you lean your head forward. No one will come looking, you  _ know  _ it. You will rot here alone, just as you did while you were alive. Your body will deteriorate, accompanied only by darkness and quiet. Nothing will change, you think, bitterly; except finally, you will be free of it all. You will wander in nothingness among the stars, and look down at the people who once loved you. You will spill your tears across the galaxy for eternity in hopes that one day they’ll look up to see you. In hopes that one day they’ll think about the friend they used to give so much time to and where he could possibly be. 

How long? Your heart is tearing itself in two. How long will it take before they so much as notice your absence? You’ve isolated for long enough with nothing to show for it- so  _ how long _ ? Do they already think you’re dead? Are they  _ glad _ ? Perhaps they’ve been waiting for this. Wanting it for as long as you have.

You clench your fists again and wipe at your eyes. You grimace at the tears smeared along your thumbs, dripping down to the pavement. You’re a sniveling mess. You wish you were fucking dead already.

Your hands reach above your head and tug sharply. The rope holds, as it has for the past hour or so you’ve been standing here. Your knees are bent slightly so you don’t pass out- what a  _ nightmare  _ that’d be- but it’s hard to keep yourself upright. When was the last time you ate? Taken your meds? God, you can’t remember. 

A chill goes down your back and you stand straight up. Take in a shaky breath. Now or never, Strider; fucking do it, you coward. Step off the chair. It’ll be so quick, it won’t hurt, no more suffering, no more pain. No more  _ anything _ , Dirk, this is what you’ve wanted for so long, fucking  _ do it _ .

You raise your foot. It swings out, toes pointed out of habit. Jake used to find it silly but charming. You told him, bashfully, about how you used to be a dancer. How moving like this came natural to you. He listened in awe, nodding at all the right parts, smile etched so far into his face that he looked like he was carved out of stone, made to love you forever.

You open your eyes so quickly you go blind for a few seconds. Your foot comes back to the chair. You can hear yourself crying, hear your stuttering breath at the memory. The warmth it brought leaves you and in comes the coldness he’s replaced it with. You remember the frown settled onto his face the last time you saw him, the awkward way he trailed off all of his sentences. He left as quickly as he could, leaving you with tea that hadn’t even cooled off yet and tears in your eyes. You felt unbelievably stupid, trying to rekindle something that wasn’t there. Romance, friendship, it didn’t matter. He wanted none of it. You hadn’t seen or heard from him again since.

How would he fare, hearing about your death? Would he remember the good times between you? The joyful times you spent together, your playful talks? Or would he think about the end, the way you broke down and turned from him so quickly after you broke up, clinging onto something new to forget him and the way he made you feel? Your home, burnt to ruin, your friends moving away from you with him.

Except Dave. God, Dave was your world. You showered him with praise and encouragement, let him take the brunt of your affection. You should have been more careful. You should have been more considerate. He got fed up with you, of course he did- you were too much all at once, a tsunami when he predicted calm water, a thunderstorm in the summer. You lay across him, rambling about anything, wishing he would trust you like you did him and hoping opening up more and more would bring it forth. You were a fool. All it did was make him push you farther away. What were you thinking?

Your brain is shuffling through so many memories at once you hear your breath coming short. Now is not the time to panic. Now is not the time to remember, to think. Now is the time to act. You’ve done enough reflection. You’ve done enough of everything.  _ Go _ , you scream at yourself.  _ Go, go, go _ . All systems stop and just fucking  _ go _ .

You can’t. You’re weak. You can’t handle this. Your chest expands and deflates at an alarming rate. The noose around your neck feels like it’s suffocating you already. Have you stepped off? Are you actually suffocating?

No, you are breathing. No, you are still alive, but you are not living. 

Your eyes are dry, finally, but so is your mouth. You’re parched, but you cannot move. If you step down without this rope around your neck, you will not come back up here. It will take you weeks to find the courage again. You can’t back down. You can’t step away. The thought makes your panic worsen. You’ve waited so long to be standing right here, in your dingy, dim garage, on a shitty chair that serves this one purpose.

A purpose you can’t even name, lest you back out of it.

God, your thoughts are scattered. You’re going back and forth between the present and the past. You have to focus. You remember the cold, you feel it seeping into your bones. You feel it making your body frail, brittle, like you could crack right open if you fall. You feel your blood like sludge in your veins. The silence crowds around you, a solid thing against your abdomen, pushing until it hurts, until you want to vomit everything you haven’t consumed in the past however long. You blink, take a deep breath, then another. You’re here, only here. You are alone in your house that was never a home, with no one to hold your hand, whisper sweet things in your ears; not even lies like they have been the last few times someone spoke to you. 

You do a quick inventory check. You left a note on your work table, apologizing to everyone you’ve ever fucking known in painful detail. You apologized for your selfishness, for your neediness, for everything that ruined you, for everything that poisoned every good thing you ever had. You meticulously cleaned and organized every room in your house. You look like a put-together gent at last. You could almost laugh at the thought. There is nothing else of yours to think of- your love was all you ever possessed, and you’ve already given it away, left it at the doorstep of those who never wanted it. 

You take another deep breath. 

One.

Let your hands fall to your sides. Let the breath out. 

Two.

Your knees lock as you straighten up. The wind makes the door to your garage creak. 

Your foot lifts off the chair, into the open air in front of it. Your breath is caught in your lungs. You feel unable to take in any more air as an eerie calm envelopes you whole. Finally.

_ Finally _ .

Your other foot kicks back the chair, and for a short second, you feel yourself fall, you feel the rope tug painfully at your neck, you feel,  _ you feel _ -

Three.

The chair knocks to the ground. The beams above give a woeful groan at the weight. A body hangs limp. 

The room is a lot darker than it was before.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not comment on my health if you do comment at all thank you
> 
> 1-800-273-8255


End file.
